


011 Morning

by Era_Penn



Series: 100 Faces of Tony Stark [11]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kidnapping, Mornings, Philosophy, sleep schedules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: Morning has variable definitions. Morning could be midnight, or midday. Morning could be the brief span of seconds between waking and running out the door to a gala. Morning could be the moments breathed between unconsciousness and the awareness of SHIELD medical monitors beeping in his ear. Morning could be dawn on the horizon, or, Tony felt, the moment the sun set and he found a way out of this goddamned cell.





	

Morning has variable definitions. Morning could be midnight, or midday. Morning could be the brief span of seconds between waking and running out the door to a gala. Morning could be the moments breathed between unconsciousness and the awareness of SHIELD medical monitors beeping in his ear. Morning could be dawn on the horizon, or, Tony felt, the moment the sun set and he found a way out of this goddamned cell.

It’s easy enough to lift the pins out of the hinges with the guard outside drowsing. Muscles toned from forging metal, beating it to his will, catch and lower the heavy door to the ground with only a little trouble. Tony’s spent mornings sparring with the two greatest spies of the era, spent mornings brawling with super soldiers and gods, and the guard goes from drowsy to down and out in ten seconds flat.

His head aches and his fingers fumble as he searches the guard for anything of use. He comes up with a knife, a gun, a walkie-talkie (which, really? Are his kidnappers led by a five-year-old?), two sticks of mint gum, and a pair of sunglasses which apparently double as night vision. That’s useful, but also disheartening, because it means that it’s likely any guards Tony encounters won’t actually be hindered by the dark as he expected.

He steals the standard issue hat and jacket off the downed man, pulls the body into his recently vacated cell, and takes over the guard’s position on the chair outside. He spends ten minutes with the knife and the walkie talkie, sticks a stick of gum in his mouth, and works another ten minutes. Then, he shifts the frequency, and grins.

“Morning, Barton! Did you miss me!”

“Jesus f- Stark?! Where are you?”

Tony can hear other exclamations of surprise in the background. “Good question,” he says. “Next question? Jarvis, trace me.”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis replies, smoothly cutting into Barton’s comm signal.

“Why did you hack me?”

“Well, it was you or Romanov, and I was afraid she’d be asleep and kill me or something.”

“Fair. Jarvis just locked onto your signal… oh, seriously?”

“So, where am I?”

“Brazil. What the hell?”

“What the hell?” Tony says at the same time as the archer, and laughs. “Well then. I’ll just go raise some hell while I wait. See you when you get here. This signal’s about to -”

Static crackles, and Tony sighs. Standing, he makes his way out of the dungeon, slinking around corners and ducking past doorways. Eventually, he turns a corner and comes face to face with three guards.

“Morning,” he says. They reply out of reflex, and Tony takes the chance to shoot two of them and draw his knife to deal with the last.

* * *

“Impressive paint job,” Natasha says, looking down at him.

Tony grins up at her, ignoring the black spots in his vision. “Morning,” he says.

Natasha snorts. “It’s two a.m.”

Tony shrugs. His eyes are open. As far as he’s concerned, night doesn’t fall until they never open again.


End file.
